


Wits

by thesometimeswarrior



Series: Hold the Fort: Pictures of Hogwarts During the Year of the Carrows [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BAMF Neville Longbottom, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon-Typical Violence, Dumbledore's Army, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/thesometimeswarrior
Summary: "They’re thinner, now, than ever he remembers them. Bruised, many of them. Some have gashes—blood, both clotted and wet—on their faces, their arms, every other manner of place on their bodies. More than a few of their hands shake, as he is uniquely situated as Charms Professor to notice."Filius Flitwick, under the Carrows.





	

They’re thinner, now, than ever he remembers them. Bruised, many of them. Some have gashes—blood, both clotted and wet—on their faces, their arms, every other manner of place on their bodies. More than a few of their hands shake, as he is uniquely situated as Charms Professor to notice. By this point in a normal year, nearly every First Year is able to levitate a feather; this year, though, they struggle to keep their wands pointed at the feathers. They are months behind schedule— _months._

(This is what he forces himself to focus on, what he reminds himself when he is beginning to think too much about what is happening. He must remain composed for his students, he _must._ He is no fool, but if he considers too carefully what their school, their _world_ really, is transfiguring itself into, he will be of little use to his students. He _must_ retain his composure, keep his _wits_ about him, otherwise the students will lose one _more_ defense against those that would seek to do them harm. Contrary to what is carved in the statue in the his house’s Common Room, he does not think Wit is the greatest treasure a man can have; _safety_ springs to mind as a more desirable option, as does _protection_ and _shelter_. But in the absence of these things, he must retain his wits.)

He paces as the Seventh Years file into his classroom, as they take their seats. Second-year N.E.W.T. students, their exams rapidly approaching—the N.E.W.T. exam full of conjuring, transformations, fire-making spells of different varieties and difficulties—but he is not willing to have distracted students with shaky hands attempt these, not now. Never mind that they will not be well equipped for the exam, come June…(Not that the exam is likely to matter now. Qualifications, it seems, will never matter as much as blood, as much as fear and groveling, not in this new world of theirs. But he must act like it will.) 

And so, they are practicing _Aguamenti_ …again. He has explained the instructions before, but he explains them again, emphasizing this time how _crucial_ a spell this is for the N.E.W.T. exam, how it is likely to appear on both the practical and the written sections. (This is _poppycock_ —the water-making spell hasn’t appeared on the exam other than as an option on a single multiple-choice question in seven years. Ordinarily, such an outright lie might concern him. But now it seems acceptable, considering…) 

“Besides,” he continues. “This spell has many practical and potentially life-saving uses outside of the exam. You will do well to master it.” 

He flicks his wand, and goblets fly from the cupboard to position themselves in front of each student. He walks amongst them as the students murmur the familiar incantation to fill their goblets, and then the vanishing spelt to deplete them again. He should have had them do the tasks with silent spells, he thinks, that way there might have been _something_ new for them to practice, or at least a new application of something old…

He is about to speak up with this revised instruction, when he sees Neville Longbottom, who, rather than summon water, seems to have frozen the goblet and the area of the desk surrounding it. For an instant, he does not understand—yes, Mr. Longbottom has been slightly clumsy in the past, has not always excelled at Charms, but has made great strides in the last several years, doing admirably on the O.W.L. and decently in class last year. He could have sworn that he has managed to cast an acceptable _Aquamenti_ in the past…he knows that Longbottom even more than most has been under stress this year…Amycus and Alecto Carrow have taken to torturing him at every opportunity, using means both magical and not, and he puts himself in harm’s way, makes the protection of every student at Hogwarts his personal responsibility…

Suddenly, he notices Neville attempting to catch his eye, and once he has, glancing sideways at a gaggle of Slytherin students near by, before turning his gaze back to his Professor. 

_Ah._ The epiphany strikes Filius like a Grindylow.

“Really, Longbottom,” he says. “If you hope to pass the N.E.W.T. exam, this will not do, not at all. In fact, I suggest you and I meet after class to discuss this inadequate performance.”

Two of the Slytherin students—Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson—laugh. Even Draco Malfoy cracks a small smirk despite himself. (The boy has been more withdrawn the past two years—it would seem life is not easy now, even for the Death Eaters and their spawn. Filius worries sometimes, particularly when he looks at students like these three, that they Hogwarts staff are to blame in some small way for this mess their world has gotten itself into. Them and their bloody House politics…)

“Yes, Professor,” sighs Longbottom, sounding dejected. Despite this, when Filus makes brief eye contact with him, he knows they have understood each other perfectly.

Eventually, the clock tower bell chimes to signify the end of the period, and he tells Neville, “I am going back to my office for the next period. If you wouldn’t mind coming with me, Mr. Longbottom, perhaps that would be a more suitable place for our discussion.”

Neville sighs again, nodding reluctantly this time, and Zabini and Parkinson snicker as they leave the room. In the corridors, Filius makes the show as convincing as he can, iterating “I do not have to tell you how imperative this exam is to your future…” and “You must study diligently, Mr. Longbottom. _Diligently._ ”

As soon as they enter the office and Filius closes the door behind them, his façade drops. “Well?”

“Tina Coulter,” says Neville, who has also discarded his pretense. He stands straighter, speaks more clearly.

Filius inhales sharply, brining the image of the second-year student in his House clearly into his mind. She is _too_ young, _too_ innocent. They all are, but _this_ twelve-year-old girl, in particular… she is quiet, sings to herself. Cries easily. More than once he has had to bring her into his office and offer her cupcakes to console her over small things, for instance when her Bouncing Bulb died in Herbology class. And now…

He sinks into a chair. “What’s happened?”

“Cruciatus,” states Neville nonchalantly. “Apparently, she was a few minutes late for Transfiguration class because she was in the loo. Walked out and straight into Alecto Carrow, who seemed not to think that that was an adequate excuse.” 

_Merlin._ Filius buries his face in his hands. 

“It wasn’t for very long,” continues Longbottom. “Only for a minute or two. But she was in a bit of a state after. Didn’t end up making it to class—I have some of my people with her now.”

Flitwick is silent for a moment more. When he opens his mouth to respond, he finds that his voice is raspy, uncharacteristically quiet, even for him, and that there is a lump sitting precariously in his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville seems to notice, cocks his head and after a moment, asks tentatively, “Are you alright, Professor?”

He should say yes. Should soldier on for the sake of the students. Keep his composure and his wits about him. But he has constructed an image of Tina Coulter writhing under the Crutiatus Curse in his mind, and it keeps replaying. He has the images of his Ravenclaws—Luna Lovegood and Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot and Michael Corner, and so many others—countless students in all the Houses, some as young as eleven, _Crucioed_ , and cut-up, and whipped, and starved. Here, at their _school_ , which should be a place of _learning_. Which should have positive associations…He should say, yes he’s fine, he’s alright, or at least that he will be. But he hears himself say, “No.”

And then he feels sobs begin to rack his body, feels hot tears welling up in his eyes that begin to plot courses down his cheeks. “This…is _wrong_!” he bursts when he can catch his breath. “We should… _I_ should…be able to do more! Be able to _protect_ …” 

He devolves into outright weeping and is only brought to himself, several minutes later, when he feels a gentle hand lay itself on his.

“We know that you’re doing everything you can to keep us safe, Professor,” says Longbottom, softly. “ _Thank you._ ”

Filius gazes at him for an instant through his watery eyes and glasses, after a moment sniffs and nods. “Yes. Well, thank _you_ , Mr. Longbottom.” If this young man, with his bruises and scars, can keep fighting, can keep risking everything to protect the students, then he damn well can too. He is watched more carefully, cannot do everything Longbottom can. But he is an adult, a _teacher_ , a Head of House. And he will damn well do what he can. “I should like to see Miss Coulter. Where might I find her?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Professor.” Neville seems genuinely apologetic at the prospect, and Filius understands. “But I’ll have my people bring her here.”

Fliwick nods. “I appreciate it.”

The young man stands to leave, turns toward the door.

“Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville turns back toward him.

“We’re, all of us, behind you.”

“I know you are, Professor.”

Once he’s left, Filius inhales, dries his eyes, gathers his wits about him once more. Then he sits to wait for Tina Coulter.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my Beta, KateC125!
> 
> Comments are my bread and butter! Hope you enjoyed!


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